


Move In Silence

by Foophile



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Community: rounds_of_kink, Kellerman's an Asshole, M/M, Mid-Canon, Mile High Club, Season/Series 02, Sibling Incest, Silence Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-02
Updated: 2008-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foophile/pseuds/Foophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>If I’d been there</i>, Michael wants to say. He stumbles over the words, on his guilt, every time and has to remember that he’s here now and that’s what counts. The past is a missed phone call and a shattered car window, they aren’t the issue anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move In Silence

Having the brothers in the same room for any length of time is a study in silence. There’s no small talk, the weather is always obvious, as is whatever state of being either of them are in. It’s nothing to chat about. It’s even worse now that they’ve done time in Fox River.  
__

Kellerman’s private jet hums quiet all around them. The Secret Service agent is sleeping like a baby, or worse, an innocent man, his arms crossed over his chest and head down. When they boarded, the brothers sat as far away from him as they could. Even seven short feet across the cabin is enough to lift some weight from Lincoln’s chest, interrupt his evolving fantasy about grabbing the man and tossing him from the plane.

Michael spoke only once to Kellerman as they boarded. A simple question of how “Owen Kravecki” could have a plane on-call in an hour started the agent on a tangent and revealed how close he was to President Reynolds. Michael’s been silent, turning the information over and over in his head, since then.

Stirring at two hours in, Kellerman shakes off his nap and looks at the two men across from him. He looks amused for a second, eying them as they glare daggers, but his face is mostly blank and his mouth’s a straight line.

“You guys aren’t very talkative, are you?” The silence continues, broken only by the whine of the engine and the wind whipping around the body of the plane. “That’s a good trait to have. I’ve noticed LJ’s the same way.”

Kellerman’s provocation is obvious. Michael nudges his brother’s elbow the slightest bit, a warning, and Lincoln ignores them both.

“You know this is the perfect opportunity to ask me everything I know about Steadman,” Kellerman rambles on, rubbing the stubble on his cheeks. “While I’m still in a giving mood. Caroline couldn’t hide anything from me and I know that bitch better than she does herself. She’s ruthless.”

As angry as his words are Lincoln doesn’t miss the thick vein of hurt. Michael shifts uncomfortably on the seat next to him, a sign that his little brother caught that as well. Whatever they say about scorned women apparently applies just as furiously to men.

He’s curious but Lincoln’s incapable of starting conversations. He can’t remember a time when whatever he said mattered enough. In Fox River and just before he went in, when things were really bad, it seemed like every response was a thinly veiled order or accusation in disguise. It was easy enough to just stop talking altogether.

So now, when he has the chance to ask all the questions that have been simmering in his mind for three years, he’s completely at a loss. His speechlessness, the shell shock of having everything he’s wanted thrown into his lap and wrapped up in a tidy if not a little sarcastic package, is overwhelming. Anger, pure and familiar, is always on the heels of any emotion Lincoln doesn’t want to suffer through and he latches onto the carelessness in Kellerman’s tone to fuel the burning in his blood.

He can only imagine the hand this man had in his incarceration, in the later incarceration of his son. Kellerman has all but said it himself; Reynolds is the brain, but he’s been the brawn. And as a former lackey himself, Lincoln knows what a powerful boss can incite in those they abuse. Yet, the thought only makes him angrier. Segues into the deaths of Lisa and Veronica and how easy it was for Kellerman to betray Mahone, one of his own.

The thoughts suffocate him in moments, anger piled upon fear piled upon misery, until Lincoln has to get away somehow. He stumbles to his feet and shrugs off Michael’s hand on the knotted muscles of his forearm. He tries to convey with a look that Michael doesn’t need to worry, Kellerman’s safe from his wrath.

But as he passes the agent on his right and ducks into the small bathroom stall, he shuts the door wondering how he’s going to temper the fire that’s turned his words to dust. It has too easily joined with the deep seated rage that’s made every bad decision in his life and Lincoln knows that if it continues to burn out of control there won’t be anything to stop him from tossing Kellerman and dooming his brother.  
__

Michael’s left staring at Kellerman, who stares right back. There’s nothing he wants to say to the man. In fact, he’d rather know what his brother plans to do and, he thinks as he sits there, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t speak with Lincoln while they’re away from the agent’s prying eyes.

“Going to gossip? Or trying to escape again? Either way, I wouldn’t suggest using that toilet.” Kellerman chuckles at his own joke and leans over to the small fridge stylishly installed next to him for a bottle of water. He doesn’t watch Michael he passes into the hall behind him, so certain that neither brother is a threat that he can keep his back wide open to attack.

If the agent only knew how lucky he is that Michael isn’t that type of man.

Michael knocks and the door opens almost immediately. Lincoln’s broad shoulders take up most of the doorway and Michael barely squeezes into the room.

“I wanted to talk,” he says at his brother’s quizzical glance. Lincoln rolls his eyes and bends over the tiny sink, filling his hands with cold water to splash on his face.

A paper towel’s blotting up the worst of the water when Lincoln sighs. “Don’t know what good it will do.”

Michael’s hunched into the tiny space between the steel toilet and the sink, the wall behind him. He tries to cross his arms over his chest and knocks his elbows into the mirror. Lincoln snorts and they both grin at their reflections.

“Look, Kellerman…,” Michael trails off, unsure. They both know what Kellerman is, what he’s probably done.

Lincoln’s dark eyes say everything they’ve both been thinking. Once a traitor, always a traitor. They have no assurances when it comes to anyone on President Reynolds’s side.

“Kellerman doesn’t matter and we can’t forget what does,” is what Michael says instead, watching the tight line of Lincoln’s back as he straightens up over the sink. There’s never been any doubt during all of this on that point. What and more importantly, who matters. Not anymore.

 _If I’d been there_ , Michael wants to say. He stumbles over the words, on his guilt, every time and has to remember that he’s here now and that’s what counts. The past is a missed phone call and a shattered car window, they aren’t the issue anymore.

He’s so lost in thought that he’s surprised when Lincoln turns towards him and comes close. Lincoln’s skin is hot to the touch, his face flushed where he presses his cheek against Michael. Michael breathes deep of his brother’s scent and lets it drown out everything else.

“Sometimes it’s just too much,” Lincoln mutters into Michael’s neck. “I hate never knowing who to trust.”

Michael can feel his brother’s heart pounding against his ribs. He bunches his hands into the cotton of Lincoln’s shirt, his breaths coming fast with the rush of arousal.

His words are a whisper. “Can you trust me?”

Lincoln’s cock presses hard into his hip in response. His brother’s hands push under the thick layers of his sweater and pull them flush.

Lincoln lifts his head to kiss him and pauses. “I’ll always trust you. I’m just so…”

“I know.” Michael interrupts, seeing everything in his brother’s eyes. He can feel the doubt and fear; feel the anger thrumming just below the surface. He can feel what they both want and need.

Michael kisses him hesitantly at first, it’s been a while, but his brother’s taste hasn’t changed and is still as intoxicating as ever. It grows heated in moments, their bodies moving in tandem to shift and rub through their dirty jeans.

Lincoln’s groan rings loud through the small space and Michael doesn’t think before he replaces his mouth with his hand over his brother’s lips. He knows that Lincoln wouldn’t care if Kellerman burst in through the door, but they can’t afford to give the agent that much ammunition. No one else needs to know about this thing between them. 

The friction against his cock is delicious, pushing Michael along so quickly that he almost wishes that they could take this slower. He would die to see Lincoln naked and stretched out on a bed, feel his skin and sweat and come on his body. Lincoln shoves his knee between his thighs, getting them infinitesimally closer and Michael’s head drops back in pleasure.

Lincoln’s smashed against him so tight it’s hard to breathe but Michael can still see his burning eyes. He’s completely focused on Michael, thinking of nothing else for the first time that Michael can remember. He’d forgotten the feeling of having all of Lincoln’s considerable charisma aimed at him and it’s nearly enough to drive him over the edge.

They’re moving hard and fast, Michael riding Lincoln’s knee, his own bumping into the toilet. He knows that there’s no way that Kellerman’s missing all of this noise, the rustling of their movements and the sounds that are still escaping around Michael’s hand, but he thinks that he might shout himself hoarse when he comes.

Somehow Lincoln reads his mind, pulling Michael’s head down to his shoulder and supplicating as Michael yanks on the collar of his shirt to bite at the hot flesh revealed. He holds Michael tight when fire flashes through his body and white sparkles under his eyelids.

Salty skin is as good a muzzle as any and Michael’s reminded of that when his brother’s teeth imprint themselves in his palm a few thrusts later.  
__

At face value, it looks like everything’s been worse since Fox River. Nothing’s resolved. They’re both on the run and trying to find the truth even when it seems like it doesn’t want to be found. But there’s a purpose now, more than revenge or salvation, there’s unspoken meaning to every action and reaction. The past, years spent arguing while trying to avoid the worst and the evident, comes unraveled with definite fundamentals. Touch and taste. Careful fear and utmost devotion. They fill up the spaces in between until they burst; spreading over the cacophony of lies and washing them clean again.  
__

Michael’s hand comes away from Lincoln’s mouth so that they can both catch their breath. The palm’s damp and swiped with his brother’s tongue. Their jeans are messy and the bathroom seems even smaller than before, claustrophobic for two grown men. The cabin outside is silent whereas their panting seem magnified.

Lincoln licks his lips, swollen from Michael’s long-fingered gag and meets his brother halfway for a lingering kiss.

He knows what he needs to say now.

END  



End file.
